


Marked by Mythal

by The Bookwyrm (Amicitia)



Series: Inquisitor Trevelyan [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, Headcanon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7881826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amicitia/pseuds/The%20Bookwyrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My headcanon as to why my Inquisitor has yellow irises. Mostly on the interaction between Morrigan and Flemeth at the Crossroads, with dialogue mostly taken from the in game scenes.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>The figure stood up to regard their arrival. “Now isn't this a surprise,” she spoke, her voice smooth. Her mannerism and voice reminded Islington of a curled up viper, ready to strike at a moment’s notice while giving the illusion that it was relaxed. Growing up in Thedas had taught him one thing; if you met someone who was old, you had better be wary of them. With the way things were at the moment, unless they had protection from others, if anyone got that old, they were generally very good at surviving and their enemies were very good at dying or had the tendency to experience something very horrible to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked by Mythal

The Inquisitor scoured the Fade with Morrigan. Had he not been a Mage and not familiar with the place, he would have been terrified to the core. It wasn't to say he wasn't terrified of the Fade but being able to wield magic and by extension, the Fade made it more familiar to him than it would to others. He could understand her worry to a degree. Kieran had just run into the Eluvian and Morrigan followed. The Fade was no place for children to be and even an adult had trouble navigating it.

“Kieran! Kieran!” His mother called out into the mists as she searched for her son. Islington kept her in sight as he searched a little to her right.

“There he is!” She cried out. Islington whipped his head around to look at the direction Morrigan was heading to.

“Who’s with him?” The inquisitor asked as he squinted. There was a figure kneeling down beside the boy. She was an odd sight to behold, hair done up in horns similar to Vivienne’s headdress. The boy had his hand outstretched towards the figure, blue light glowing gently from his hand.

“That's… No it can't be…” Morrigan stammered as they neared. Noticing their presence, Kieran withdrew his hand and the light vanished with that action.

“Mother!” He called fairly glad to see his parent. She was after all, the only family he had known.

Morrigan’s response echoed her son’s words but not his feeling. There was a deep bitter hatred that Islington picked up on as the Witch of the Wilds uttered the words, “Mother…”

The figure stood up to regard their arrival. “Now isn't this a surprise,” she spoke, her voice smooth. Her mannerism and voice reminded Islington of a curled up viper, ready to strike at a moment’s notice while giving the illusion that it was relaxed. Growing up in Thedas had taught him one thing; if you met someone who was old, you had better be wary of them. With the way things were at the moment, unless they had protection from others, if anyone got that old, they were generally very good at surviving and their enemies were very good at dying or had the tendency to experience something very horrible to them.

Islington’s hand reached for the back of his staff out of reflex, but he released his hold on it soon enough. There was a feeling, and the whispers that he had heard since he drank from the Well of Sorrows that it would be futile. He sighed and fell back to old habits, namely sarcasm.

“So this is all some kind of family reunion?” he asked waving his hand dismissively.

“Mother, daughter, grandson. It rather warms the heart does it not?” The woman said laughing some as she placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Morrigan bristled at the woman’s words. “Kieran is not your grandson. Let him go!” she growled. Islington knew he had problems with his mother but watching Morrigan and her mother brought family rivalry to a whole different level for him. He knew women well enough and maintained his position, supporting the Witch but not exactly interfering directly either.

The woman rolled her eyes at Morrigan. “As if I were holding the boy hostage. She’s always been ungrateful, you see.”

“Ungrateful? I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone! You will not have me, and you will not have my son!”

Islington blinked at the exchange of words. Right he was not putting his foot into this mess that easily for sure. Handling the Inquisition was one thing, but someone else’s family business? That was problematic. So he stood a little straighter, hands clasped behind his back in an at ease position as he watched. Morrigan raised her hands, summoning forth magic from the Fade.

In a tone he was far too familiar with whenever he messed up around Senior Enchanter Lydia, the woman sighed softly. “Be a good lad and restrain her,” she commanded, gesturing with her hands.

Something stirred within Islington as he stepped forward, fear gripped his heart as he realised he was moving forward against his own violation. He stepped in front of Morrigan and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away from the boy and woman.

“What are you doing? What… are you doing?” Morrigan cried in fury as her spell was disrupted.

Islington found that his body was his own again, and his head felt weird as he rubbed it. It was as if he was waking up from a stupor, but he had been awake the whole time. “I don’t know!” he cried in frustration. His heart was pounding. Why had he done that? He had been compelled to. Never had he felt at such a loss at his own actions. Each had usually been thought out but this… this was different. Islington turned around to look at the woman, eyes narrowing. Clearly she was more than she seemed… it was best to tread carefully now. She could control him by whatever means necessary and he was now a danger to everyone.

The woman stood in her languid posture. “Of course you know. You drank from the Well, did you not?”

Morrigan’s eyes widened in surprise. Something in her mind clicked. “You… are Mythal,” she said softly, regarding her mother in new light. There was awe and terror in her voice as she spoke. Islington stared at her. It was one thing to meet a darkspawn from legend… and now here was an old elven god from legend right in front of him. He had read her stories enough to know that while Mythal could be kind, she certainly wasn’t nice. The Kindly One, one of the tales had called her.

“You are? It’s very nice to finally meet you,” Islington said softly. This was the commander of the voices in his head… though that explained how she had a hold over his actions. He had drunk from her Well after all… and agreed to serve Mythal for eternity. So much for a dead god. The Inquisitor wasn’t entirely pleased with the prospect but he had entered an agreement, and was honour bound to serve her. Well that that he could object to that.

“You see girl? These are manners, as you require a demonstration,” Mythal said with a smile.

“I require nothing but your death!” Morrigan said through gritted teeth. She was alone here, and the Inquisitor was no ally she could trust. Mythal had a hold over him and even she could not break that. Skilled as the Inquisitor was, this was an Old Elven God that they were dealing with.

“You tried that once already, and see how far it got you?”

Mythal gently gestured to Kieran and the boy ran over to his mother to hug her. “I’m sorry Mother. I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time,” he said softly. Morrigan hugged her son tightly, relief flowing through her body, but she released him soon enough. Her whole world perception had been shaken and answers were needed. “I do not understand…” she said as she looked towards Mythal.

The crone walked towards them slowly. “Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more.”

Up close, she paused to regard Islington, her attention temporarily taken away from her grandson. Like herself and her daughter, Islington sported yellow irises. There was an old memory, stirring in her mind as she regarded him.

“Come here lad,” she said kindly. Islington strode forward towards the older woman. She reached out to cup his face with her wrinkled hands as she studied him. “I had not expected to see you again. Not since I marked you when you were but a babe.”

The mage did his best not to bristle under her touch. Morrigan regarded Mythal curiously. “Marked by you? Inquisitor, have you met my mother before?” she asked frowning. Yet the man had shown no sense of recognition in seeing the crone.

“Indeed, once… when he was but a child in his mother’s womb, she fell very ill. His father sought to save both their lives. The magic I used saved both of them but it resulted in him being… marked so to speak. His family had little magic in their blood, but somehow their son grows up to be one of the more talented mages around? That was not by their doing, but mine. There are souls that are destined for great things, and even I could feel that. What is a woman to do, but place her cards well enough to try and guide history? And so I saved him and his mother. Some of my magic fused with the unborn child, much as how Kieran is, and here stands before me, the Inquisitor of one of the largest forces of Thedas of the Age. I knew your destiny was to be great, of course I had to save you. Although little did I expect that I would end up being able to command you after you drank from the Well. I had only thought to watch you as you grow, but this, this is much better” Mythal said with a slight laugh as she withdrew her hand from Islington’s face.

The Inquisitor frowned and stepped backwards. He knew his mother had told him about her difficulty when she was carrying him. They had sought help but only a Witch from Kocari Wilds had managed to save their lives. Morrigan looked at the Inquisitor. She had wondered about the yellowed irises but had not thought they were related. Inquisitor Trevelyan had even looked into his lineage and found nothing about their relations.

“You’re Flemeth,” he said softly, confusion evident on his face.

“That is one of my many names yes.”

The man sighed softly and closed his eyes. He pushed his emotions to aside. There was a time for business. “I presume you know what we’re up against.”

Flemeth’s eyes widened as she chuckled, surprised by the sudden shift in attitude. “Better than you can possibly imagine.”

“So will you help us?” Islington asked hopefully. To fight something from the ages, he would need someone from the ages and with Mythal standing in front of him, he felt they finally might have a good chance in defeating Corypheus.

“Once I have what I came for,” Flemeth said as she turned to look at Kieran. And there goes that double dealing he knew she had up her sleeve.

“And what is it you want?” Morrigan asked frowning. The situation was quickly spiraling out of her control and she was uncomfortable with it. Not only had her mother called her son, she had full control over the Inquisitor, and furthermore, had even marked him for greatness.

“One thing, and one thing only.”

“I have to go now Mother,” Kieran said softly, his voice filled with sadness.

Morrigan raised her eyebrows in horror before she frowned. “No, I will not allow it.”

“He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness. You know this.”

“He is not your pawn Mother! I will not let you use him!”

“Have you not used him? Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?” Flemeth asked, her voice soothing and coiling once more like a viper.

“That was then. Now he… he is my son,” the Witch pleaded softly, voice filled with emotion. Turning to look at Islington, Morrigan continued. “Flemeth extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor. That was the fate she intended for me. I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Kieran instead!”

Islington stood to the side awkwardly as he listened to the banter between mother and daughter. But at the mention of the boy, his eyes went over to the child. What did Flemeth mean by that he carried a piece of once was. “Wait, the way she talked about Kieran…”

Flemeth interjected. “I am not the only one carrying the soul of a being long thought lost.” At this point Islington just about wanted to turn around and head back to his quarters. Meeting an ancient darkspawn was bad enough, meeting an elven god was also terrible but now, a child with the soul of something old and powerful? He hoped that it was just a dream, and that he was walking the Fade in his dreams once more. He was getting too old for this in his opinion. It already seemed like a long enough day. Now he wondered how much truth there was to legends of old. The prospect was not enticing.

“He is more than that, Mother,” Morrigan fought back.

“As am I, yet do you hear me complain? Our destinies are not so easily avoided, dear girl.”

“Mother, I have to,” Kieran said, his voice cracking as if he was in pain. The Inquisitor regarded the boy thoughtfully… how small and lost he must feel amidst everyone. Poor boy.

“You do not belong to her, Kieran. Neither of us do!” Morrigan said. “Speak for yourself,” Islington muttered under his breath. The crone had easily controlled him, he pretty much belonged to her whether he liked it or not. “There’s nothing we can do to stop her Morrigan.”

“My daughter struggles. I expected no less of her.”

Morrigan knelt down, her expression pleading. “Kieran… I…”

Flemeth looked to the boy, and the Witch, smiling gently. She could be kind. “As you wish. Hear my proposal, dear girl. Let me take the lad, and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or, keep the lad with you… and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due.”

“I will take my chances.”

“I found you once, girl. What makes you think I will not find you again?”

“Take over my body now, if you must. Just let Kieran go. He will be better off without me, just as I was better off without you,” Morrigan said, her tone resigned. Islington looked away. “If that comes to pass Morrigan, I promise I’ll find Kieran a good and safe place to be.” Perhaps with his mother. She had found homes for his cousins who had been orphaned after the conclave took quite a bit of his family, she would be able to find Kieran a good home.

Flemeth’s expression faltered at that moment as she regarded her daughter, and turned towards Kieran. She took his hands in hers and an essence emerged, floating from the chest of the boy towards the Old God.

“No more dreams?” the boy asked innocently.

“No more dreams,” Flemeth confirmed as she released him. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me. As for you Inquisitor, there is an ancient altar, deep within a shaded wood. Go to it. Summon the dragon that is its guardian. Master it in combat, and it is yours to command against Corypheus. Fail, and die.”

With that the old crone walked away.

 

Islington looked at the mother and son. “Come on, we best get out of here before more Old Gods come up,” he said with a sigh as he led them towards the Eluvian.

“Are you all right Kieran? You are not hurt?” Morrigan asked as she regarded her son thoughtfully.

“I feel lonely.”

Something passed between mother and child and both broke into a smile. Islington watched Kieran go away and he shook his head. Morrigan turned to speak to him but stopped when the Inquisitor held up his hand. “We will talk, but not today Morrigan… I need a drink first to recover from all that has happened.”

He walked off without a word more, heading down to the cellars to get a strong bottle of whiskey. He poked his head into Josephine’s office. “Josephine, I’ll need to take the rest of the day off and I’m not feeling that well.”

“Of course Inquisitor, is anything the matter?” She asked frowning with concern for her friend, especially because she spied the bottle in his hands. He rarely drunk, and to see it present was unnerving.

“No… no I just… I just need some time to recover.” With that Islington headed up towards his quarters, popping the bottle open and casting an ice spell on one of his cups. Chilled whiskey was his preferred drink. Pouring a shot, he downed it quietly. Soft footsteps were heard from the door.

“Amatus?” Dorian called out concerned. “Josephine said you weren’t feeling well and I thought I might check up on you…” He made his way over and slipped his arm around the man. “Are you all right? Is the Well causing you discomfort? Or your Mark?”

“I’m… not all right Dorian… but I just… I just want to cuddle and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist for now.”

“Of course Amatus. Take all the time you need,” he said as he guided Islington to the bed and started telling him his usual lists of complaints from the uniform of the soldiers to the draperies as usual to comfort his Amatus. Something normal for a while.

The two of them sat together until Islington found it within himself to explain everything to Dorian, sobbing quietly into the man’s shoulder, terrified of the price that he had agreed to pay. Here with Dorian, he could be himself, he could raise his doubts, his worries. Outside the door, he had to be the Inquisitor, but for a while, just for a brief while, here he could be Islington Trevelyan.


End file.
